


At Her Service

by crownedregality



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-06 01:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedregality/pseuds/crownedregality
Summary: The round table was a thing of dreams, and that’s why Emma – scrawny, blonde-haired, orphan Emma – trained every day to become a Knight. One day, she was going to sit at that table and fight for the legendary King Arthur. One day, she was going to change the world. One day, she was going to be a Saviour.That plan didn't include meeting a sharp-tongued Queen with a short fuse whose only interest was hunting down a mysterious creature.





	At Her Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedDove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDove/gifts).
  * Inspired by [At Her Service [ Art ]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486990) by [RedDove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDove/pseuds/RedDove). 

> Thank you to RedDove for the amazing art that inspired this fic!

So much for Knights of the round fucking table.

The legendary King Arthur – the scrawny little orphan boy who had risen from the ashes, pulled Excalibur from the immovable stone, and become the greatest King to ever live - had a round table. That round table was specifically designed to dismiss the servitude that came with hierarchy, to push away the social boundaries that determined the worth of a man by his social status, to dismantle the idea that wealth or status automatically put one man above another. It was a clever method of ensuring absolute loyalty for the people who were closest to him, his brothers-in-arms, the band of Knights who were renowned through all the land to be the fairest of them all.

Emma could name them all without thought. _Lancelot. Galahad. Percival. Gawain. Tristan. Bedivere. Gareth. _The list went on and on, more names than most could even consider, but Emma had painstakingly learnt them all.

The round table was a thing of _dreams_, and that’s why Emma – scrawny, blonde-haired, _orphan_ Emma – trained every day to become a Knight. Because one day? She was going to sit at the round table and fight for the legendary King. One day, she was going to make a change in the world, was going to be a _hero_, do **good**, _save _people. Being one of King Arthur’s Knights… it didn’t matter that she was an orphan, that she had _nothing_, because he hadn’t either: Arthur had risen from poverty and taken the throne of Camelot.

If anyone could understand her pledge, her desire to crawl her way out of the slums and make something of herself, surely it was him?

But becoming a Knight was harder than Emma had ever anticipated.

“_You’re just a woman_,” She snarled, mimicking the man who had mocked her when she had eagerly scrambled to sign up to be a squire. He had looked her up and down – at her tatty, faded clothes, her dirty skin, limp blonde hair, and finally to her breasts – and deemed her unworthy. “_Sign-ups for maidservants are down the hall, or the local tavern are always looking for wenches_.”

She had punched him.

Maybe it was impulsive, maybe she should’ve known that it would have resulted in her being thrown out, but it had felt _good_. It had felt good to unleash all her fury at the man who had dared to deny her the one thing she had wanted her whole life… all because of her _gender_.

**How dare he**.

Perhaps, if she was able to locate King Arthur himself, if she could _speak_ to him and convince him that she was a good candidate to be a Knight, that she was worthy of sitting beside him on the round table, then he would permit her to train with the other recruits. She just had to find a way to get to him, to sneak into Camelot’s castle and—

“_Ouch! Shit!_” She didn’t quite manage to save herself from falling flat on her face as she tripped over a rather conspicuous looking branch on the floor. The sharp rock that greeted her faze cut the bottom left of her jaw and left a gash large enough for blood to leak through onto the surface of her skin. That had _hurt_. It had **really** hurt.

The noise startled the birds and they immediately flew up, and they were followed shortly by an equally startled, but much larger, creature. It made a horrendous screeching noise, something that made Emma squeeze her eyes shut, hold her ears and press her forehead back against the ground, at before it disappeared so quickly that one could only imagine that it was by magic.

“You **_IDIOT!_**” Now that was a different type of screeching altogether. Emma hesitantly opened her eyes just long enough to see an incoming projectile: something that looked strangely like tied together, purple dyed cloth. She managed to dodge it at the last second and quickly scrambled to her feet. She was supposed to be a _Knight_, for goodness sake, not some pitiful, whimpering little mess on the floor!

And, as a respectable Knight-to-be, she certainly wasn’t going to be called an _idiot_.

“Excuse me! Who do you think you’re talking to?!” She snarled, turning on her heel to face her attacker… and came face to face with a stunning brunette.

A stunning brunette who was quickly advancing as though she was about to murder the poor blonde.

“_You!” _The woman snarled, spitting venom, clearly unable to hold back her anger. Did she have a temper? It seemed like it. Her eyes were lit with fire and her lips, as red as blood, curled over her teeth in a dangerous sneer. “It took me _seven months_ to track that creature and you scared it away! Why can’t you _look where you’re going_?!”

Seven months? Creature? Emma opened and closed her mouth, dumbfounded as the gorgeous woman snarled in her face, looking as though she was ready to hit Emma over the head with something hard and bury her six feet underground. By the murderous glint in her eyes, perhaps that possibility wasn’t far off the thoughts running through the crazed woman’s head, and Emma found that her muscles tensed as she impulsively readied her fight or flight response. _I’m a Knight. This lady doesn’t scare me._

“I—what creature? It was just birds.”

“**JUST BIRDS?!**” Uh oh. The snarling had turned into full-on roaring, and it took everything within Emma’s body to stop herself from flinching at the aggressive tone of voice. Wow, this woman really was pissed off. What? Had she ruined her precious hunt?

“Did it look like _just a bird_ to you?” The brunette raged again.

By the look of her, she was rich. Although her outfit wasn’t overly extravagant – a mere red riding coat coupled with pants and a hat – the material was fine. It was unblemished, as though it was brand new, and hadn’t found itself with four previous owners before finding its way to the brunette. The woman’s skin was paler than it should be, indicating that she didn’t have to do any manual labour, and her hair was glossy and rich as though it was washed with expensive oils and lotions.

But the biggest thing that gave away her wealthy background was the way she held herself. Only a pompous, money-grabbing fool could hold their chin so high and look down at other people as though they were _nothing_. This woman was an asshole.

“Yeah.” The scrawny blonde squared her shoulders and lifted her bloodied chin, defiance in her eyes as she glared down the woman who had tried to squish her under her heeled boot as though she was nothing. She was Emma Swan, soon-to-be Knight of Camelot, and she wouldn’t let this woman talk down to her. “It looked like _just a bird_.”

“Then you are blind as well as stupid.”

Emma gasped, winded by the insult that was perfectly executed with a distasteful curl of her lips. And then the woman was strutting off, hips swaying, head held high, as though she had _won_, as though she was a better person than Emma, as though she was worth _more_.

“_Excuse me?! _Do you have **any** idea who you’re talking to?!” Emma shouted as she stalked after the brunette who was trying to slink away with nothing more than a backwards glance. Her feathers were ruffled, and now she wanted nothing more than to pick a fight with this rich woman and _win_. The brunette would look so pretty with that fire snuffed out.

“I don’t really care.”

_Oh_, this lady was a real piece of work, wasn’t she? Emma ground her teeth together and picked up her pace, walking beside the woman whose stride was large even though she didn’t seem to be struggling with the pace. How could this woman power walk like that? How could she walk as though she owned the very forest beneath her feet? It was infuriating and Emma had to bite back the impulse to trip her up. Oh, but it would be _funny_.

“I’m going to be a _Knight of the Round Table_.” The lie slipped out easily and she almost instantly regretted it. But what did it matter? She would never see this woman again, so it wasn’t as though her words had any real consequences.

“Oh?” The brunette stopped then and Emma almost tripped over her feet as she hurriedly ground to a halt too. She turned to find dark brown eyes evaluating her, surveying her up and down, and Emma could feel her skin crawl with discomfort. She was a terrible liar, but she hoped that the other woman couldn’t see that she was bluffing out of her backside. Was it really a lie though? She had been rejected at the sign-ups, yes, but she was determined to find her way to the King himself. Surely, he would listen and allow her the chance to become a Knight?

There was a stalemate. Complete silence. It was only made worse by the lack of bird song in the forest from where they had all been scared away by Emma’s blunder. It was unnerving, as though the whole of the forest had paused what they were doing to watch the interaction between the two women and see whether the tension was going to explode or ease off. Was this woman going to call her out on her lie? Did she even know?

“Emma.” She introduced herself before the other woman could comment, holding her hand out in hopes of a somewhat civil introduction. _Not that this asshole of a woman deserved pleasantries._ Perhaps that could patch some of the tension that had grown between them. “Emma Swan.”

The brunette dropped her gaze to eye the offending hand in question before lifting her eyes back up to look Emma squarely in the eyes. The intense eye contact was intimidating, and it took all of her willpower not to shrink back under the heated scrutiny of the brunette.

“Regina Mills.” She responded, her voice as smooth as melted chocolate, a delight forbidden to most. A victorious look that Emma didn’t understand crossed the brunette’s expression for a brief moment, a look that screamed _I’ve won_, before she spoke once more. “But you may call me _Your Majesty_.”

Oh shit.

* * *

It wasn’t until two months later that Emma saw Regina again.

It wasn’t as though King Arthur was an accessible man. He was the King, a monarch, the coveted ruler of Camelot. Once upon a time, he made regular trips through the village, visiting the poor, helping in any way he could, but lately he had spent the majority of his time hauled up in the castle. Rumour had it that he was searching for some ancient artefact, a chalice, something so rare and valuable that he was dedicating all his resources to it. Apparently, he spent day and night scrolling through ancient tomes and lost scrolls, and had his council running the Kingdom for him in his absence.

After seven weeks of waiting, Emma decided to take fate into her own hands.

As a woman, it was easy enough to sneak into the castle. She stole herself a maid’s outfit (from where they were hung up to dry after being washed), changed herself, and slipped into the castle undetected. It was incredible how nobody even side-eyed her because she was dressed as an unsuspecting maid. _Men were foolish. The best assassins must be women_. At least it was something that Emma could bring to the Knight’s attention. Not all villains were men. Surely, they should know that with Arthur’s traitorous sister Morgan?

It took a while to find out where Arthur was. Apparently, he was in the War Room, strategizing with some other accomplices. She assumed that he was going to be in there with his best Knights, perhaps strategizing about the chalice’s location, or perhaps deciding missions to gather more ancient scrolls and artefacts to aid his hunt.

She was wrong.

Because as soon as she stepped into the room, dressed in her maid’s outfit, familiar chocolate eyes locked onto her. It was incredible how the only woman in the room was the one to acknowledge her and look in her direction. It certainly said a lot about the intelligence of men.

Why was _she_ here? Surely the Queen of another Kingdom had no place in Camelot? Emma held Regina’s gaze confidently for several seconds before dark chocolate eyes dropped to survey her outfit. The brief flicker of a smirk on her lips – the unspoken _so you’re not a Knight_ – infuriated Emma so much that she had to bite down on the impulse to cross over to her and wipe that smirk right off her lips.

King Arthur was talking to the brunette despite her distracted attention. There were maps spread out in front of them, diagrams and notes all littered over the surface of the table, and it almost seemed as though the mysterious Queen was sharing information with the King. _What for?_ If Emma wasn’t itching with nerves at the way the Queen’s eyes flashed with recognition, the deep-set fear that she would rat out her lie to the King, then she may have thought more about her approach. Instead, she ended up just blurting her words out like vomit.

“King Arthur!”

Well, it was a bit of a rude way to introduce oneself, but honestly, Emma was so flustered under the Queen’s intense stare that she didn’t quite know how else to approach the man without the other woman immediately stopping her. She had waited _years_ for her opportunity to speak to the King and convince him to allow her to train to be a Knight, and she wasn’t going to let some irritating, self-righteous, pompous woman put her off from that goal.

“Your Majesty.” She said again, dropping to a kneel in front of the King. She tried her best to ignore the look of amusement on the brunette’s face at her slip-up and rude introduction. Emma’s mannerisms were surprisingly masculine for such a scrawny woman, obviously having learnt how to move and talk by observing male knights the entirety of her life.

“I’ve come to request your permission for me to become a squire. I wish to train to become a Knight of the Round Table.”

There was silence in the room, so still and so quiet that it was a marvel that crickets weren’t taking advantage of the lack of sound.

“You wish to squire?” One of the Knights asked eventually, after several long beats of silence. Disbelief dripped from his tone as he looked the scrawny, dirty blonde. She looked as thin as a twig, as weak as a dried leaf, and she was a _woman_.

“We don’t have women Knights.” Another supplied unhelpfully, as though they had the jurisdiction to respond on Arthur’s behalf.

“I think we should give her a chance.” Gawain announced with a shit-eating grin as he raked his gaze over Emma. He was always a womaniser, was renown for his charm with the ladies, but at least he was throwing his support behind her. He was one of Arthur’s right-hand men and so his opinion would be valued by the King.

Arthur Pendragon held up his hand to silence the rest of the room. Regina – the Queen, King Arthur’s guest – remained silent as she watched the blonde woman who was still knelt on the floor. It was making Emma more nervous and uncomfortable than any of the men criticising her with their eyes. Why was that? It wasn’t that this woman’s opinion or input was even valid in the grand scheme of things. She meant _nothing_. It wasn’t as though she would be the pinnacle reason for her Knighthood.

“Recruitment is handled by John.” Arthur informed her simply, his face passive, but kind. She understood why people called him the Gentle King.

“He refused me because I’m a woman.” Emma spoke up bravely, tilting her chin up in defiance. At that angle, the scar on her jaw from her brief fight with the forest floor became obvious, and she could feel the heat of Regina’s gaze on it. She saw Arthur’s eyebrow quirk, either that he was surprised at that or that he agreed with John, she wasn’t quite sure. Hopefully it wasn’t the latter or she had no hope at becoming a Knight of the Round Table.

“I apologise for that. This Kingdom is not a place where women should be treated as though they are somehow incapable or inferior. Clearly, he clearly hasn’t met my wife. She would certainly give him an earful.” He grinned charmingly, amusement in his eyes, and Emma couldn’t help but smile right back. He really was an incredible man, wasn’t he? “But sign-ups are closed for squires. Perhaps try again next year?”

The smile on her face fell as quickly as it had come.

“No!” She exclaimed, and everyone’s eyebrows shot up at the outburst. Who dared to demand anything of the King? “I am valuable to you. I’m strong, I know how to wield many different weapons, including a sword, and I’m smart. I can hunt. I know the forest like the back of my hand.” She heard an amused snort at that, coming from the woman sitting by the King’s side, but she refused to look at the stuck-up Queen. The other woman clearly thought that her brief stumble in the forest on their first meeting meant that she didn’t know the forest very well. She was wrong.

“I can track anything you want me to. Please, just give me a chance. I can _prove myself._”

“You can track anything?” Arthur asked with a tilt of his head, interest clearly on his face.

“Yes, I can. I’m an excellent tracker. Let me prove it to you?”

“Fine. _Prove _it to me.” The King turned to Regina, whose eyes were still focused on the pathetic blonde who had remained kneeling by the man’s side. “Regina, I apologise. I told you that I had no men to spare for your quest. However, I do now have a woman who is eager to please and a _great_ tracker. She will accompany you and prove herself worthy of becoming a Knight. If she is successful, or if you deem her adequate, then I will ensure that she gets put on the recruitment list.”

_Double shit_.

“She is _at your service_.”

* * *

It turned out that Regina was a lot more of a bitch than she originally seemed.

Which was _saying something_, because the Queen was a royal asshole on their first meeting, and Emma was surprised that she could top that.

But she had.

The Queen had complained about having Emma tagging along with her, calling her a _useless donkey_ and spending a good forty-five minutes grumbling and complaining to herself. For a woman who enjoyed calling other people childish, she was certainly proving herself to be something of a five-year old with the way she stewed and fumed and pulled a little tantrum when she didn’t get what she wanted.

_I wanted a Knight of the Round table, and I got this buffoon_, Emma heard her cursing to herself.

“So what exactly is it that you can track? Your way to a dinner plate?” The Queen sneered, and the jab was harsh, but Emma couldn’t help but smirk at it. Why? Because the other woman was _pissed off_, and she was pissed off because she was stuck in Emma’s company. That was a victory for the blonde. For once, she felt as though she had the upper hand with this complicated (but absolutely stunning) Queen.

“Indeed, your Majesty. I’d be worried about your dinners from now on if I were you. I am _quite_ the tracker.”

This time, she expected the blow before it hit. She managed to duck out of the way just before another rolled up piece of cloth hit her. Really, what was up with all these balls of cloth? What were they even for?

“It’s a good job you’ve got _me_ here to protect you, Your Majesty, considering your shot is _terrible_.” The Queen’s eyes flashed with absolute fury and Emma couldn’t help but admire the way the dark depths sparkled. This woman was a mystery. She was an asshole, yes, but a mysterious one.

Emma had ruffled her feathers enough that the brunette didn’t talk to her for the rest of the day.

* * *

The information for this little quest was very hush-hush. The Queen was out, on foot, with a small band of Knights at her side. She didn’t _look _very Queenly. She was dressed in a riding outfit, similar to the one she had been wearing on their first meeting, with her hair pulled back from her face. Yes, her dress sense was still elegant, her clothing was expensive, and her makeup indicated that she had some pride in her appearance, but she didn’t look much like a Queen. Queens were usually in noble robes, dripping with jewels, with a stuffy, uppity, better-than-you attitude.

In fact, Regina had that attitude perfected.

It seemed as though people either refused to talk about the mission, were not permitted to, or simply did not know exactly what they had gotten themselves into. The Queen, the woman who did know everything, was tight-lipped and unwilling to share what she knew. Emma would say that she refused to speak about the mission but, in all honesty, it seemed as though she was refusing to speak to _Emma_. It was rude, really.

But since when did the Queen care if she was rude or not?

Emma did notice Regina watching her in moments where she believed the young Knight-to-be hadn’t noticed, though. She had caught her eyes on a few occasions, and every time, she could feel the intensity of them burning the back of her head. It was as though Regina was watching her, assessing her, seeing if she believed her worthy to be in her company. The answer was always a resounding _no_ given the way that the few short things that Regina ever said to her were biting remarks or insults.

Two weeks passed this way, wandering aimlessly through the forest. They were supposedly tracking something, but Emma had no idea what. They weren’t looking for physical signs. There was no indication of anything walking on the path ahead of them. There were no maps, no signals, no real track to where they were heading. Emma couldn’t wrap her head around it. As a tracker, didn’t you need some signs to actually track?

And Regina refused her help to actually _track_. So what was the point of her on this mission again?

But still they went on. Day after day after day, they hunted, but for what, Emma didn’t know. With every day that passed, Regina’s shoulders grew tighter and tighter, her stance stiffer, her muscles tighter. Was it a stress thing? Or were they simply getting close?

Emma had no idea. So she wandered on, spending her days walking, and her nights making carvings out of wood, chatting with the knights whilst the antisocial Queen retired to her tent without a word. The woman was a mystery and Emma couldn’t help but be intrigued.

* * *

“You haven’t eaten in three days.”

Trust Emma to be the one who noticed that the Queen was skipping meal times. How did she know? Because she had cooked twice out of those three days. Before, when she cooked a rabbit they had skinned, the Queen had snarled and complained about the taste. She had said that Emma was a useless cook and had burnt the meat. Which was… honestly true. But really? The woman was an ungrateful bitch, and she could have gone out to get her own food, except she _couldn’t_ because she didn’t have the hunting skills that Emma did from spending years catching her own food as an orphan. It wasn’t as though Emma was going to garnish a dish and cut it up into little squares for the fussy Queen.

There were no Robin Hoods in her forest helping poor orphan children eat.

The next time she had cooked, just to _really_ piss the monarch off, she had served her a whole cooked rat. The Queen’s eyes had lit up with that fire that Emma had grown to love and she had, quite literally, thrown the food back in her face.

But now, she hadn’t eaten for three days.

So for three days, not one complaint had come from the brunette. She was more withdrawn than usual, spending a considerable amount of time in her tent, and the fact that she refused to eat anything only added to the suspicion that something had happened involving their quest. Was the fruitlessness of it finally getting to her? Had they accidentally missed their mark? Had something else got to it first? Was it taken? Was it scared off? What even _was_ it?

Emma had gathered the courage to linger at the entrance to her tent and point out how she had noticed the brunette had not eaten.

“My eating habits are none of your concern, Miss Swan.” A voice snarled back.

Well, at least that was more of what Emma was used to. The Queen Bitch was back in full vengeance. Emma stepped into the tent without invite and looked over to Regina, who was bent over a large map. _Oh, so there was a map_. Not that it made any sense at all. It all seemed to be in some strange, foreign language. Elvish, perhaps? It looked ancient, older than their time, perhaps older than the birth of man.

The elves had ruled this world long before they had stepped foot onto it. It was only he growth of men that had pushed them to extinction.

“You need to eat.” She insisted, placing a bowl of food down next to the map. The metal _clanged_ against the wooden table and she could see the muscles in Regina’s jaw jump in irritation, almost as though she was readying herself to snap at the wannabe-knight for daring to drop a tray of food onto her war table. The glare the Queen gave her was almost enough to send the blonde scurrying from the room. _Almost_.

It was just a shame for the Queen that Emma knew she was all bark and very little bite.

“I’m not leaving until you eat.” She plonked herself down on the chair and crossed her legs, raising an expectant eyebrow at the Regina. Why did she even care that the Queen ate? Well, if she didn’t, then she wasn’t going to be on top of her game. She was going to make mistakes, she was going to snap at people and lose the loyalty of her men, and potentially screw up this whole mission. Emma relied on the success of the mission to be able to go back to Arthur and claim her hard-earned Knighthood.

And for that to happen, Regina needed to suck up whatever problem she was having and start to look after herself. Emma would force her to, if need be.

“You can’t be serious?” The Queen asked with a snarl, but Emma didn’t move an inch, not even with the murderous glare the other woman gave her. What was she going to do? Shout and scream at her? It would make a positive difference to the virtual silence she had endured for weeks on end now whilst Regina had stewed in her own sour emotions.

When it was clear that Emma wasn’t going to budge – the blonde even closed her eyes and pretended to take a nap, just to exaggerate the fact that she wasn’t going to go anywhere any time soon – Regina reluctantly took the bowl of food and walked over to a different makeshift table. Or, rather, a desk, given all the writing supplies on there. How many pieces of parchment did one woman need? Some poor sod had to carry that all for her whilst she strutted around without even a bag on her back. _The wealthy_. They had no consideration for anybody else. Did Regina even care about the people in her Kingdom? Probably not.

It seemed like an inherent disease for people born into royalty. They were all self-absorbed douchebags.

There was silence. Regina ate, and Emma waited, her eyes shut and feet bobbing to some silent tune playing in her head. It was perhaps after ten minutes that the bowl was unceremoniously dumped back onto her lap and she looked up sharply, watching as the Queen turned her back on her. _Ungrateful bitch_.

She huffed and collected the empty bowl, heading to the door of the tent. Just as she was about to leave, she heard the soft call of a _thank you_, too quiet for anybody else to really hear. Emma looked back, but Regina was no longer in view, having presumably moved through to a different part of the reasonably sized tent. The gratitude was enough, though, and Emma left with a smile on her face.

* * *

Dumping food in Regina’s tent became a regular habit, mainly because it irritated the Queen so much. Emma went to the extremes of cutting through the middle of dinner – much to the confusion of the Knights, who all paused what they were doing to watch the blonde disappear across the small campsite and into the Queen’s tent.

In truth, they were all shit scared of the snappy woman. Regina wasn’t a woman to be trifled with. Her glares made even the bravest of men fill their pants, and her sharp tongue was enough to lash through the hardest of armour. Luckily for Emma, the irritation she had once felt at being subject to Regina’s ire had slowly evolved into amusement, to the point now where she wasn’t sure if the Queen was actually being vicious or if she was also participating in this strange back-and-forth banter that had developed between the two of them. The Knights couldn’t understand it, and often picked on Emma for her wonderful handling of the Queen’s mood, but in truth, many of them were respectful (if not a little envious) of the carefree relationship she had with the Queen.

Emma had no fears around Regina because the monarch couldn’t exactly dismiss her from service, could she? And if they found whatever it was that they were looking for, if they had a successful mission, then Arthur wouldn’t need the Queen’s input at all. He would see the fabulous result and realise that Emma was a keeper and would make an awesome Knight of the Round Table.

The dinner trips had slowly evolved. To start with, Emma had merely sat there and watched Regina eat. This went on for a few days until the Queen had snapped and snarled that she wasn’t some artefact to be stared at. From that point onwards, Emma had started to bring her own dinner in too, and they had sat into companionable silence.

That companionable silence had slowly shifted into soft conversations.

“I didn’t want to be Queen.” Regina admitted quietly one evening, several weeks since they had started this strange arrangement, as she pushed her food around her plate. Emma had immediately known something was off when she walked in, because the usually stoic Queen was sitting on a rug on the floor, and had invited Emma to come and sit with her. The blonde had, but very hesitantly, as though she expected a viper to slip out from under the blanket to bite her.

It sounded like something the Queen would do.

“My mother insisted. She forced me into marrying a man thrice my age just so I could be Queen. When he died, he left the Kingdom to me. It was in debt, the people were starving, and we were on the verge of war.”

Emma wondered why the Queen was being so open until she noticed the flask of wine by her side. How long had she been drinking? How much had she drunk?

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. She reached out to gently touch Regina’s hand, and the Queen immediately flinched away out of reflex, as though she wasn’t used to being touched, or, at least, wasn’t used to being touched kindly. Emma’s heart sunk lower in her chest and she could feel some sort of emotion dwelling inside her. Sympathy? Empathy?

Whatever it was, she was now starting to see the impenetrable Queen as _human_.

The Queen didn’t share any more secrets that night, so Emma filled in the silence. She told the woman about her childhood, about being abandoned at birth, about the number of homes who had kept her for barely more than five minutes before passing her on. She spoke about the hardships she had suffered, about the hunger she had felt, about how seeing the King and the Knights of the Round Table had given her hope in life. She told Regina how she had dedicated three hours a day to training with a sword even after working twelve hour shifts (at the stables, at the tavern, anywhere she could) to try to make enough money to buy essentials.

Regina didn’t say anything else for the rest of the evening, but the way she looked at Emma, with wide, soulful, expressive eyes… it was enough.

It made Emma’s heart throb with something she didn’t understand.

* * *

It had been three months. The weather was changing.

Frustration was starting to get to the band of Knights. The Queen remained silent as to what they were actually looking for. She came out of her tent, barked orders, ensured everything was packed up, and then they were on their way again. That went on day-in, day-out. And it was fine. It was fine whilst the sun was out, whilst there was plenty of fruit in the forest to snack on, whilst they could see where they were going.

But the trees shed their leaves and before they knew it, winter had come knocking on their doorstep.

It was _freezing_ in the forest.

The leaves had frozen on the floor, making them _crunch_ every time somebody stepped on them. The trees were bare, giving them no shelter from the harsh wind or snowfall. The tents they had brought with them were starting to wear thin after so much use, but they were still able to withstand the weather, even though they weren’t particularly good at keeping the cold out.

Emma and Regina’s nightly visits had continued. The Queen had told her more, all in short doses, all without much elaboration. _My husband didn’t love me. I was a trophy wife. The Kingdom would not accept me. _It was… nice, getting to know the woman under the bitchy attitude. And the new closeness between them definitely didn’t make the Queen any less of an asshole: she still shouted around, still barked orders, still glared at anyone who did anything that wasn’t satisfactory to her.

She still insulted Emma day-in, day-out. _Can’t you even tie your own shoelaces? If you picked your feet up, Miss Swan, you might not fall over them. You are far more bearable when you close that mouth of yours and stop talking. If you stare at me any longer, I will blindfold you, gag you, and force you to walk behind your horse tied to some rope._

That last remark had made Emma smirk. She had responded with a _would you like that, my Queen?_ without missing a beat, her voice low and suggestive with a shit-eating smirk on her face, and she had sworn that Regina’s skin looked flushed before she turned away. The lack of response was an immediate victory for the blonde.

Food was scarcer to come across, but one of the Knights had been lucky enough to barter with a travelling merchant for some bread and cheese. Emma had skilfully showed the men how to heat the bread until it was soft, and then melt the cheese on top. She had taken a few slices for herself and headed down towards the river, where she had seen wild blueberries growing, determined to add them to the plate before bringing it to the Queen.

None of them had been eating as well as they should because of the weather, so Emma was determined to make this special treat as tasty as she could. She herself didn’t even know why she was bothering to go to such lengths to be _nice_ to the bitchy woman. It wasn’t as though Regina would ever share the sentiment.

But it was slippery, the dew on the ground having frozen to become a dangerous slope. Slippery enough that she slid down the bank. The ice was thick and hard, flat and smooth, and she had nothing to hold on to. She tried to screech, tried to open her mouth and say something, to alert the Knights to the perilous situation she had found herself in, but she felt the crushing cold of the water before she banged her head and saw nothing but darkness.

All for some berries.

* * *

It was cold. It was _so cold_. She couldn’t feel her fingers, couldn’t feel her toes, couldn’t feel her lips. Was she dead? Was this what death felt like? The cold, the darkness, the niggling feeling of being alone?

_Emma_. Was she dreaming? She couldn’t see, everything was a blurry mix of light, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was shivering. Her head was _pounding_. What had happened?

Was she dead?

She was brought sharply back to reality when two warm hands cupped her cheeks and a pair of hot lips covered hers. It was a strange sensation, something she couldn’t quite feel with how numb she was. And then there was water, and was it coming from her lungs? She coughed it up, and it was then that reality really started to bleed back into her, and she was aware that she was _soaked_. She peered up and stared at the silhouette of her saviour, the person who had dragged her from the river and cleared her lungs of water so she could breathe again.

All she saw was a familiar pair of worried brown eyes before consciousness slipped from her grasp again.

* * *

It was warm. Emma hummed softly, her eyelashes fluttering as she turned over, sinking into the pillows and blankets. She was dry now, dryer than she had been last time she woke up, but her hair was still a little bit damp. She blinked open her eyes and looked through the candlelight to see that she was in the Queen’s tent, in the Queen’s bed, and-- how in the world had she gotten here?

The woman in question was sat at her desk, her shoulders hunched over as she scribbled away on some parchment. She was dressed in a nightgown and robe, and her hair was a little curly, as though it had gotten wet at some point and simply air-dried. From this angle, she looked far more beautiful than the full face of makeup and perfectly structured hairdo look that she normally wore.

“Regina?” The name gained the other woman’s attention, and before Emma even knew what was happening, the Queen was by her side. She could feel a hand on her forehead and she offered a smile at the sweet gesture, but it came out as more of a grimace. Her head was _pounding_.

“Wh-what happened?” Her voice was raspy and she cursed herself for the weakness it displayed.

If she had expected tenderness from the Queen, she had expected wrong. Once the worry had gone from Regina’s eyes, once she realised that Emma was okay and wasn’t at risk of imminent death, her whole expression change. She slapped the blonde’s shoulder.

“What in the world were you doing?!” She snapped, teeth bared, eyes sparkling. Emma was too tired to be able to give her sudden mood change much thought. All she was thinking was, _it is good to be alive_, and how glad she was to see Regina. Why would her heart be glad of that?

“You’re an **IDIOT! **You could have died! We would never have found you! What were you _doing_?!” The Queen continued, her voice loud enough to set off Emma’s headache again. _Great_. Did she always have to shout at her?

“I was getting us berries for dinner.” She rasped in reply, her throat itchy and sore, surprisingly dry considering she’d drunk enough water whilst going for a little swim in the river. She was sure that she saw Regina’s expression soften, sure that she saw the Queen’s shoulders sag, but she couldn’t think too much on it as her eyes slipped shut again and she fell back to sleep.

She was also sure that she felt a brief brush of fingers against her jaw, the slightest touch against the scar there, but she could have imagined that in her sleepy state.

When she woke up again, it was to complete darkness, and the feel of a warm body pressed alongside hers. She turned her face and peered at the sleeping silhouette of the Queen who was outlined in the moonlight. She was breathing softly, soft puffs of air leaving her slightly parted lips, and Emma’s heart throbbed with longing. She looked _beautiful_ in a way that Emma had never really thought she looked before. The Queen was wrapped around the blonde like some sort of possessive koala bear, her leg sandwiched between Emma’s, her arm curled around her waist and clutching onto the top the blonde was wearing.

It was almost as though the monarch believed that the blonde would disappear if she let go.

Emma fell back to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Regina glared at Emma considerably more after that. She also didn’t let her out of her sight, as though Emma was some sort of naughty child who couldn’t be trusted to look after herself in the real world.

Which was _ridiculous_, of course.

The snippy remarks came back in full force, the insults and jabs, but it was familiar. Emma smirked at it just like she always did, but as time wore on, the amusement she felt at the Queen’s wrath soon became coupled with a warm sort of affection that blossomed from somewhere deep in her chest.

As time wore on, they grew tentatively closer still. The dinners continued. On the brief occasion where Emma reached out to touch the Queen in the privacy of her tent, the brunette no longer flinched away. It was _progress_, a tentative balance between the two of them, and there were more shared smiles between the two of them that Emma even wanted to acknowledge.

The depths of winter came and went. Spring started to bloom, and Emma wondered – not for the first time – how Regina was so willing to leave her Kingdom under the rulership of her council for such a vast amount of time. Whatever it was that she was looking for must have been something truly valuable to risk her whole Kingdom for.

And it was.

They found out what it was the day they finally located it. It was a creature. It was something from myth and legend. It was magical, older than time itself, and apparently only showed itself to those of a pure heart and pure intentions.

It was a **dragon**.

Emma had laughed when the Queen had briefed them, when she had told them that the creature was close and it was time for everyone to stop but her. A dragon, really? Everyone knew that such creatures didn’t exist. They had _never_ existed, and even if they had, it was many years ago, before the dawning of other sentient beings. They were the protectors of the world, the link to true magic, and since magic was so scarce aside from the odd evil witch… there had to be no dragons.

But Regina was insistent. She was either crazy or she was right. Or, perhaps, she was a bit of both.

And she had demanded that she go alone. Emma wasn’t going to let that happen. Perhaps that was a mistake.

She had stalked Regina for ten minutes through the undergrowth, tracking her movements from afar. She had seen, from the privacy of the bushes, as a great white dragon – easily twice the size of a human, but not nearly as impressive as legend made out – appeared out of thin air in front of the Queen and spread its wings.

It didn’t speak, but Emma could hear its voice in her head, a soft, rich, female voice. _I know you’re there, protector_.

She gaped, but the dragon didn’t even look her way. Was it all in her mind? It had to be. After all, her jaw was currently on the floor, because there was a fucking _dragon_ right in front of her! How incredible was that? She placed her hand on her sword, ever cautious, as she watched as Regina spoke to the dragon in low tones as though they were having a full conversation, but from this distance, Emma could only hear parts of it.

_Curse. Death. Darkness. Help. Starvation. Poverty_. What was it that Regina needed? What were they talking about?

And then Regina nodded and dropped herself to her knees, bowing her head. The dragon reared up and Emma acted before she thought.

“No! Stop! Please, don’t hurt her!” She screeched as she threw herself in front of the Queen, using herself as a personal shield. The great white dragon stopped and observed Emma with its wide, blue eyes, eyes that looked like ice, like snow. It was a beautiful creature, but its gaze was just as intense as Regina’s glares could be.

“Emma?! What are you doing?! Get out of here!” Regina screeched, grabbing onto the back of Emma’s top, but the blonde refused to budge. She wasn’t going to move and let this creature strike the infuriating monarch down. If _anyone_ got that pleasure, it was going to be _her_.

“No! I’m not going to let this thing kill you. Your men need you! Your Kingdom needs you! I—_I _need you!” The words were hard to spit out, being dredged up from the very pits of her heart, but it helped that she was facing down the dragon and not the temperamental Queen. The dragon merely blinked at her, before seemingly smiling, as though it had won some sort of victory with Emma’s appearance. It was hard to see the expression with its reptilian face.

_She is the darkness to your light_, Emma heard in her head, and she held her ground, because Regina wasn’t **dark**. She _couldn’t_ be dark. She was good and pure and—

A bolt of dark magic hit her from behind and she was thrown across the clearing, skidding to the floor. She cursed in pain and pushed herself up to sit, wide, shocked eyes looking at what had hit her. Faintly, she could see the fading purple of magic around Regina’s fingers, and everything slotted into place.

_She was a witch. That’s why she was so elusive. That’s why she was alone. _

“You—you have magic?” She was shocked, choking on air, and she felt… strangely _betrayed_. They knew almost everything about each other by this point, all of the secrets deep within each other’s heart that had been slowly unravelled over the months of travelling together, and yet—Emma didn’t know the _biggest_ thing about Regina.

That she was a _witch_.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” And those soulful eyes met hers again, and she felt her heart sink into her chest once more. The amount of self-loathing in those eyes was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The only time she had seen anything remotely close was the time on the floor in the tent, when they had shared a dinner and discussed their traumatic pasts, when Regina had quietly opened up about her husband.

_That_ Regina couldn’t be _this_ one, could it? Could that Regina – the Regina who dragged her from a river, who tucked her up in _her_ bed, who curled herself around the blonde in sleep as though desperately seeking some form of affection – be this evil witch?

The dragon was silent, watchful, but it hadn’t left. Emma recognised the aura around it, recognised the glittering tail. She remembered falling over in the woods, remembered the noise, remembered something disappearing in her peripheral vision. It was _this_ beauty. She had almost encountered a dragon all those months ago!

“What—why-- why didn’t you ever tell me?” Did she have any right to be hurt? She didn’t know. It wasn’t as though Regina was obligated to tell her everything about herself. But that she had _magic_? That she was a _witch_? That was a pretty big thing!

“You would have hated me. You wouldn’t have been able to see past… _this_.” She held her hands out, but Emma didn’t flinch. The blonde merely shook her head and stood up, taking careful, slow steps towards the two, as if approaching a dangerous animal. And the thing was… she wasn’t sure which one out of the two was truly more dangerous.

“I would. I _can_.” She understood, though. Understood why magicians went into hiding, why sorcerers were shunted, and witches persecuted. Merlin had been the greatest of them all, a mentor to Arthur, but he had also made the mistake of teaching the most powerful enemy mankind had ever seen: Morgan. Since her reign of terror, when she had burned villages to the ground, tortured hundreds, manipulated and controlled with her magic, magic users were no longer trusted. They were an extinct breed, something that had existed once upon a time, but was now hidden away like some dirty little secret. Any child born with magical abilities was suppressed to the point where the magic could sometimes manifest itself in uncontrollable ways.

But Regina’s magic didn’t seem to be uncontrollable. She had been _taught_ how to use it, and it was a strong magic, a _dark_ one, one that could only cause death and pain. And if Emma had to guess, if she had to assume that she was taught to use her magic for a reason, she would put her money on someone teaching Regina so that the younger woman would be able to take the throne.

Was that why Regina flinched when touched? Because of the way she had been taught? Did she _expect_ pain at the contact? Or was she afraid that _she_ would be the one causing pain?

She didn’t even want to think about if Regina had ever used her magic to harm somebody else.

“Is that why you flinch away when I touch you?” She asked, approaching again, and Regina looked like some startled deer, ready to bolt at the slightest of movements. But still Emma approached, not frightened at all until she stepped right up to the Queen. She held her gaze, kept those expressive eyes on her, and carefully took the other woman’s hands in her own.

They were soft, having never worked the fields, and surprisingly warm. Gently, she ran her thumb across the inside of the Queen’s wrist and watched the way that Regina’s breath hitched, how her eyes dampened, and her pulse raced.

“I’m not scared of you. I’ll never fear you. I accept you. I _trust_ you.” Emma whispered, and she could feel it now, the flood of emotions that had been festering in her chest these last few months, the ones hidden under the bickering, and the late-night dinners, and the careful bantering that others had not understood. It had been there all along, under the surface, and now she could see the usually closed-off woman’s own emotions dancing freely across her face.

Regina had been unwittingly letting her in this whole time and now Emma had rooted herself deep within the Queen’s stone heart.

The moment her lips touched Regina’s, everything fell into place. Her eyes fell shut and her world finally centred itself, clicking into place like a magnet finding its other half, opposites but attracting each other. A rush of _something_ filled her chest and burst forth, and if she had opened her eyes to see it, she would have noticed a wave of magic emanate from their bodies.

When they parted, when she opened her eyes again, her world was a strange blur of rainbow. It seemed as though they were in a different realm altogether, one where everything seemed strangely sparkly, and although everything was moving in slow-motion. She immediately clutched Regina close to her, refusing to let go of her hands, as the Queen also looked around. Where the horse-sized dragon had stood now sat a towering creature, one bigger than even a castle. The creature had to bend its head very low to even look at the two of them, and even then, its eye was bigger than their bodies.

“Hello, Regina. Hello, Emma. My name is Aithusa.” A female voice informed them, and it took Emma a second to realise that it was the dragon in front of her. The thing could actually _talk_? “Dragons are a dying breed. As magic fades from the world, we lose our strength and become smaller, weaker. We slip between worlds, living on the edge of reality, looking for pairs to bring back magic to the worlds where it has been lost.”

“I thought you were going to take my magic away.” Regina insisted, her voice shaking, and Emma wasn’t sure what her nerves were from. She hadn’t really reacted to the kiss. Had she even liked it? The other woman was sometimes so hard to read, and Emma was terrified that she had miscalculated and somehow ruined the building friendship between them. It wasn’t enough for her to let go of the irritating Queen’s hands though. “You were supposed to take my magic in exchange for making my Kingdom’s lands fertile again, so my people no longer have to suffer and starve.”

Emma’s heart swelled. That was what this mission was about? Regina wished to bring out bountiful food for her people? Perhaps not all monarchs were selfish and self-serving after all.

“I was never looking for you, Regina. _You are the darkness_.” The dragon responded, her great blue eye shifting to look at Emma.

_The guard should never have rejected Emma. She went into the woods. She knew it like the back of her hand, but she still managed to fall over a tree root, one that shouldn’t have been there at all. She spooked the birds, and something disappeared out of the corner of her eye, something magical. That was when she met Regina._

This was all one big set-up, wasn’t it?

“_And she is your light_.” What? Her eyes widened as she noticed Regina staring at her in question, and the dragon was looking too. And then both of their gazes moved, and—and then she looked down too, noticing their hands, the swirl of white and purple encircling their linked together digits. _She is the darkness to your light_. They were in perfect harmony, yin and yang, bringing balance to each other.

“I don’t—What’s this? I don’t have magic—” She spluttered, overwhelmed, until she met Regina’s eyes again. The other woman simply smiled and gently cupped Emma’s cheek with one hand, keeping their connection with the other through their other hand. Gently, affectionately, her thumb briefly brushed over the scar on her jaw.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.” Emma had never heard that tone come from the Queen before, something soft, something so full of emotion that it was overwhelming. She swallowed, not exactly sure what to do or say under such scrutiny. “Such _ambition_, such _drive_, such a need to do _good_ in the world despite how the world has done nothing but turn its back on you. Why is your magic not dark? Why has it remained so pure, despite everything you have suffered?”

Emma didn’t know. She was abandoned, unwanted, abused, starved, left to fend for herself. She had no one, nothing to her name, only a drive to become a Knight so she could bring justice to this world. She had thrown herself in front of a dragon for another person. Why? Because that was _her_. She had always been that way.

“She is a _protector_.” The dragon crooned softly, her eye flicking between both Emma and Regina. “She is a _saviour_, and she is a _Knight_. She will guard the realm and bring light to many in her path. And you, Regina, will teach her how to harness her powers. Together, you will bring about a new age, where magic is no longer feared, but celebrated. You will bring back the creatures shunned by those who persecuted those with magical abilities. Together, you will be unstoppable. And your son, the truest believer of all, will lead this new land into times that have never been seen before.”

The dragon slowly lifted its head, and Emma scrambled as the world started to return around her. Son? Magic? New age? What? This was all crazy! What in the world was going on?

“Wait!” She called frantically, her fingers still tight on Regina’s, but the magical world was still dissolving right before her eyes. “What does that mean? You can’t just leave! You can’t just go! _Aithusa--!_”

It was too late. They were back to the middle of the forest, and the dragon was gone, but magic still danced around their joined fingers. But when Emma met Regina’s eyes again, looked into the depths of brown that had always failed to hide her emotions, she knew that everything would be okay.

And when the Queen’s lips met her own in a soft, tentative kiss, she was certain that everything would pan out.

They would work it out together.

* * *

The throne room was full of guests, some from Camelot, some from Regina’s own Kingdom, and some from far, far away. Everyone had squeezed in to watch the big occasion, including the Knights of the Round Table, and King Arthur himself. His wife, Guinevere, watched from the side-lines with a wide, proud smile on her face, as though the very action of a woman being awarded something was enough to singlehandedly brighten her day. And perhaps it was.

Guinevere was a strong, independent woman, and the women of Camelot were thriving under her rule.

Emma was nervous. She couldn’t help it. She stared down at the floor in respect as Regina spoke her sacred vows, instructing her on the duties of her Knighthood. She knew the words off-by-heart, and she could recite each and every one, even as Regina spoke them. She could hear the clinking of her chainmail as she moved slightly and could hardly concentrate over the thundering of her heart. Eventually, Regina’s sword touched each shoulder, and then it was gone.

They had been through a lot together since returning from their expedition. Emma had turned down Arthur’s offer of knighthood, finding a deeper pull to Regina’s plight, and had helped the brunette to salvage the Kingdom that the previous King had left in tatters. Regina taught her magic, and together, they revitalised the land, turning dead soil fertile again, and dispelling old curses that bitter witches had left as vengeance for their persecution. Emma had trained as a Knight, slaved away to learn absolutely everything she could, and had refused promotion until she was ready despite Regina’s insistence that she deserved it simply for her duty on their quest.

Trade had improved. Arthur proved to be a wonderful trading partner, and both Kingdoms gained a lot from their mutual trading agreement. Magic was still something of a sore point for Camelot, considering their ongoing issue with the witch Morgan, but Arthur was at least open minded and supportive enough (perhaps because of Merlin’s influence) to relax the laws on magicians and even offered to support Regina and Emma in their attempt to bring back those who had been persecuted and exiled.

It was a very slow process, but they were getting there. Together, united, they could do anything.

“Arise, Ser Swan.” The Queen said, her voice full of pride. Quickly, Emma clambered to her feet, her nerves all but gone as she met the warm, supportive gaze of Regina. She quickly smiled back, unable to stop herself in front of the woman who had completely claimed her heart, before turning to face the group of people.

“_Knight of Misthaven, Saviour of the Realm, the Queen’s Protector_.”

The room burst into cheers, a thunder of clapping and Emma couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. This moment as hers and hers alone. She had strived her whole life to get this far, and here she was, being celebrated by hundreds of people, people who she had helped, who she had touched the lives of, who she had saved.

And she was standing next to the woman of her dreams, the Queen, the fairest in all the lands.

Quietly, she took Regina’s hand in her own, linking their fingers together as the room continued to cheer in front of them. She felt the connection immediately, the way their magics pulled together, how they swirled and combined to create a force to be reckoned with. Gently, she flexed her fingers and squeezed Regina’s hand, a silent _I love __you_, and she could almost feel the way a smile broke out on Regina’s lips even if she couldn’t see it.

Quietly, she ducked her head towards Regina, her voice dripping with pure affection as she murmured into the brunette’s ear.

“I’m at your service, my Queen.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in keeping up-to-date with my upcoming Swan Queen fics, please do to give me a follow on Twitter @crownedregality
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and share your thoughts!


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